Keep Running
by ScalesNailsBails
Summary: Sam is a wandering small-time criminal with a dark and tragic past. Upon her encounter with Trevor, she gets reined in for a higher purpose in criminality, status, and her relationships. She is forced to test her boundaries and beliefs, all spoiled by her new friend.


_Fuck, it's hot._

The midday sun burned through my helmet, causing my brow and chin to seep with sweat. Soft whirlwinds of dust blew against my visor as I drove through the Senora Desert highway. The area was quiet and lonely for the most part; the only inhabitant was the occasional trailer truck that would appear in the landscape and eventually disappear beyond the horizon. The sounds that polluted the untouched, dry desert was the humming coming from my black Nemesis dirt bike. It had some bruises inflicted over the years, but it could still tear down the road as fast as the day I got it.

I'll need it for today.

I was scouting for the right spot to take my chances. As I passed the occasional gas stations, I could usually find a reason why it wasn't the one to move in on.

 _Too many people around._

 _Not enough escape routes._

 _Security cameras seem to be functioning._

Then, I found it. A mirage in the desert: a lonely, beaten down little station with just one car in the parking lot, a tired red Bodhi that probably belonged to the owner. The building was miles from any nearby residents. Police would have a hard time just getting to the place, let alone catching up with me. This is where I'll take my chance.

I wasn't new to this kind of life. In fact, it was my life. Holding up, pick-pocketing, hustling, and working under-the-table. It wasn't the American Dream, and it sure wasn't honest, but I had to survive somehow. It just so happens that my survival depends on the destruction of others.

I stepped off my bike with my small caliber pistol and buffle bag strapped over my shoulder. Dressed in my heavy leather jacket and dirty jeans, I could pull off looking like a man if I kept my helmet on. That way, I may look more intimidating An old trick I always used. My field-of-vision was limited by keeping it on, but it was a good compromise in order to conceal my identity. Laying low and staying out of sight was why I was able to stay out of any real trouble over the years. My skills laid in my ability to disappear.

As I marched through the swinging down, a soft chime from the doorbell sung through the open room. I only had a few seconds to skim through the station: no red light security cameras - just placed there to scare off freshman thugs, hardly any stock on the shelves, and a crooked restroom sign hanging in the corner of the room. A dark-skinned man was dozed behind the cashier counter, reading a cheap porn mag and holding a huge plastic jug of soda in his hand. A small wire fan was blowing directly on his neck; it was the only relief he had against the baking weather outside.

The only other person inside the store was a man drooling in front of the open cooler door of the cold beer section. Middle-aged and balding, he wore a dirty and piss-stained t-shirt. If he was anything like the rest of the population in Sandy Shores, he was either a tweeker, a criminal, or both. Either way, he'll probably mind his own, or be too strung out to even notice I was even there.

A bee-lined directly to the counter and pressed my small pistol up against the cashier sipping from his jug. His attention quickly turned when he noticed what was going on. Deep, dark eyes shot wide open when the steel barrel of my gun angled toward his brow.

"You know the routine. Empty the drawer into the bag. Don't forget the cash _under_ the drawer."

I slugged my duffle bag open over the counter, still pointing the gun at the confused cashier as he begged.

"Please, don't. I have a family. I have kids."

"Then don't die over a few bucks."

Stay cool. Stay calm. Only a few more minutes of this and I can hit the road. Maybe I'll make enough off this score to afford a hotel for a night or two and a couple of meals. Camping under the stars is nice in the movies, but it sure as fuck gets old after a while.

Singles of cash flopped into the bag. The cashier did as he was told. I'm sure it wasn't his first time being held at gunpoint.

All of a sudden I heard a hawking yell,

"Fucking finally! Someone is actually tearing this place up!"

 _What?_

I craned my neck around, still focusing my gun towards the cashier. The tweaker I saw standing across the store was now breathing down my neck. He turned out to be much bigger than I had previously observed, and he definitely noticed that I was smaller than him.

"C'mon, let's see what your next move is gonna be. Are you gonna shoot him, or just run with the cash?"

"Please don't shoot me!"

"Shut the _fuck_ up! Both of you!" I harped, trying to regain control of the situation.

 _This asshole was really fucking this up. I should be burning my tires against the road by now, but this unexpected dickhead was holding up my progress._

"Hurry the fuck up!" I screamed again at the cashier, gun shaking in my hand.

"Ohhh-hoo, getting nervous now aren't we? Do you think he called for police yet? Y'know there's a security button under the counter? They could be on their way now." The man was teasing me. From what I could tell, he's probably a seasoned thief as well.

"Stay out of this. This isn't your place." I nagged back.

"That's where you're wrong. This is Sandy Shores. I _own_ this place." he whispered, getting too close.

Annoyed and tired, "I said _STAY OUT!_ "

I spun on the heel of my boot and faced the man harassing me. In the same motion I waved the gun away from the shaking cashier and blew it towards the man. My visor got in the way of my viewpoint, making me guess at my target. His arm flew around and knocked the back of my right shoulder with his elbow, causing me to loose my aim as I took the shot. The gun recoiled and snapped back in my hand.

A small spout of dust and light popped from the florescent light above, then that section of the room immediately dimmed. I missed.

 _Oh shit._

Well aware that I just tried to shoot him at point-blank range, the man quickly became overwhelmed in rage. Pupils dilated and a sadistic growl roared from his throat. Before I could move, his hand clinched for the collar of my leather jacket, pulling me forward. My next move was something that my older sister taught me when I was young: _If someone tries to hurt you, kick them in the balls._

My knee reared up towards my chest, and thrusted into his core. My heel stomped directly onto his junk, and in less than a second he was kneeled over on the floor below me.

I spinned back around to face the cashier, frozen from the encounter he just observed. When I noticed the empty drawer, I quickly zipped up the bag and sprang out the door, leaving the shaking cashier standing.

I leaped back onto my bike and threw the engine back to life. I threw dust as I spun out of the parking lot and back onto the long, dusty road. That took way longer than it should have, and may have left me more at risk. But at least I was able to leave relatively clean with some cash. I was out.

The station was fading away in the distance behind me. Just as my heart rate began to calm back down, I heard a loud rumbling from behind me. I turned my head around to see the same red Bodhi from the parking lot. That torturous man was roaring from behind the steering wheel.

 _Shit, I'm fucked._

I cranked my wrist forward and felt the engine speed up beneath me. Surely I'll be able to loose him off road and disappear into the desert. When I saw a clearing in bush and rock, I turned my handlebars right and crossed the open dirt surface of the desert. My hands started to vibrate under the harsh terrain, but this was my only choice if I were to lose this maniac. Small dunes caused my bike to bounce under me. The roaring from the Bodhi and its driver began to quiet behind me as I gained distance.

 _I think I lost em. Thank fucking God._

My bike left a trail of smoke and dust as a traversed across the dunes, and for a second, I was alone again with my score. Free to disappear again.

As I was mounting over a taller dune of sand, that fucking Bodhi flew over the peak and was charging right in front of me. I had no time to react, jerking my handlebars hard left to steer from being ran over and crushed. I didn't have time to avoid the pile of boulders scattered in my path. My front tire bounced and swerved sideways, causing the back tire to lift and throw me over my handlebars. I landed head-first on the compacted sand and rolled down the hill, my arms and legs tossing dust from side to side.

My head was still knocking against my helmet when my body finally stopped rolling in the ground. The sand clouded my visor, but I was able to make out that the Bodhi was stopped at the base of the dune.

 _This is it. I'm going to die here and be eaten by the desert._

Two heavy boots stomped the ground beside the Bodhi and began walking my way. A sudden pain shot up from my thigh and through my entire body. I was unable to move. My pistol had be flung out of reach from my belt when I wrecked. I looked over to see the front tire of my bike completely bent inward. I had no getaway now. As I was assessing my situation, my impending doom, I remembered the pocket knife I had stored in the side of my boot. The man was now standing over me, eclipsing the sun's harsh light with his massive body. I grabbed for the knife and sprang the blade open, swinging at him from my grounded position.

His muddy boot lifted from the dirt and kicked me directly at my helmet, knocking me back flat on the ground, cracking the vizier of my helm.

 _This is it._

His heavy knees dropped on either side of me, straddling my body. "You reeeeeeally made a mistake today, didn't you?" Before I could answer, his scarred fist hammered down on my helmet, shattering my vizor onto my face. My eyes sealed shut to protect my sight from the bright sun and shards of plastic splintering my face. I tensed my body in preparation for the next blow, knowing that I was going to be beaten to death by bare hands.

However, the next hit never came. In anticipation, I opened my eyes to see the shocked look on the man hovering above me.

"You're….. You're a girl?"

I laid their confused, "What?"

"Shit, you really are a woman."

His clenched fist loosened and grabbed at my helmet, pulling it over my head. The shattered plastic scraped against my face as he violently ripped the helmet off me, causing me to bleed several red lines across my face and neck.

"You're a little roughed up, but you ain't bad looking neither."

 _Shit, he knows now. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna get raped and killed out here. I'm gonna be eaten by the desert._

The taste of iron blood was building in my mouth from the crash. As I was hearing the hulking man's reaction to me, my only idea was to spit blood onto his face, hoping it would disgust him away from me, getting me a chance for some sort of escape.

The blood splattered against his furrowed brow. A smooth and intense growl murmured from his throat as his tongue slipped out to lick my blood that landed around his mouth. I was shocked disgusted at his reaction.

"This kitten has claws." he growled.

Immediately, I remembered the knife gripped in my hand. With all the force I could manage at my position, I slammed the blade into his lower hip, causing him to roar in pain. He quickly changed his attention to my knife, pulling it out of himself and tossing it aside. That same hand then clinched my wrist and twisted it, pulling me upwards and onto my knees. The pain in my leg bursted and I screamed for him to stop.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I yelled.

"Why are you doing this to _me?"_ he called back.

Confused, I asked the only thing I could think of.

"Who are you? Just let me go."

"Name's Trevor, and by the way your leg looks, it doesn't look like you're going anywhere… on your own."

Reminded by the state of my leg, I looked down to see a bloody stain in my jeans, just above my knee. As I landed on the pool of rocks and earth, my leg must have landed on a sharp root or stone, tearing me open. I growled in pain and wrapped my hands around the cut, hoping the pressure will slow the blood loss.

"I'd say you have only a few hours until you empty out, darlin'."

" _Why_ are you still here?"

"You're asking that to your savior? Doesn't sound very fucking grateful."

"My…. my _savior?_ You caused this! You!"

"I might have, but I'm also going to save you. Take you away from here."

"Fuck you" I gripped. "I don't need your fucking help."

"No, no, no, no. You got it all wrong. I'm your _friend,_ and friends help friends right? I'll help you clean up, get your feet back on the ground, and you'll help me by making me lots and lots of money."

Confused and scrambling for ideas of what the fuck this Trevor was talking about, I yelled back, "I'm not going to be a whore for you. I'd rather you leave me to die here in this desert. Fuck you!"

"Noooo, you still don't get it. You're like the close female friend I've always wanted. You're like the…. eager soldierette I've always needed! You're done pedaling highway gas stations for scraps of cash."

He slowly started to stand up, grunting at the small wound I had made in his hip. I guess my pocket knife wasn't as deadly as I thought. My apparent new friend stood over me again, reaching his bloody and scarred hand down to me.

"Now c'mon." Trevor said, "If that fat, depressed pig Michael can adopt a student, then so can I! I can tell you have a spark in you that beyond this shithole. You have just the right amount of hate and stubbornness to become a professional, like me! And I'm gonna teach you how."

 _Who the fuck is Michael?_

Questioning his motives, I stated, "I'm not interested in running around with some meth head, only to be left dead on the side of the road."

He snorted, turning on his heel limping back towards his Bodhi. A small line of blood was running down from the cut I had made on his side and staining his dusty jeans.

"Fine then, you can just be left for dead here in the desert. Let the birds peck at your body."

 _I'm gonna be eaten by the desert._

"Wait!" I hollered. "How much money are we talking?"

"HA! Just as I thought. Money's an addiction you know. This place is full of addictions." His hands motioned to the surrounding desert of Sandy Shores.

"You got me all wrong, asshole. I just need enough to be able to keep running."

A grin crossed over Trevor's face, "that why I knew you'd be perfect. I could tell from the moment I saw you without that helmet. We're going to make great friends, you and I."

 _Perfect? For what?_

He turned around from his truck and limped back over towards me, leaned over, and wrapped his forearms under my legs and behind my shoulders.

"Wait… Don't fucking touch-" Before I could finish, he lifted me up in one fluid motion. It was if his stab wound wasn't even there. The pain in my leg eased as he gently placed me in the passenger seat of his Bodhi. He returned for my bike to load it in the back of his truck; the weight of it didn't seem to phase him at all as he grunted and lifted it into place.

"My bag, it has the money in it." I begged.

He snorted at my answer and turned his head to look me over, finally noticing my figure. "Darlin, what I'm about to show you will make you forget all about that bag."


End file.
